


Snow

by quillquiver



Series: Angel's First [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Almost Kiss, Eskimo Kisses, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Pancakes, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer - Freeform, Snow, Snow Angels, Snowball Fight, Snowman, Winter Wonderland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel learns the meaning of ‘Snow Day’, breakfast for dinner is a staple, and Sam joins an exclusive club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: Forgot to mention in the notes on my other fic for this series… This series basically ignore everything from season 9 save for the fact that Cas becomes human. There’s no angel knocking around inside the youngest Winchester, Cas is still a virgin, and Kevin is not staying in the bunker!
> 
> PS. I'm not really so happy with this one. Hopefully the next installment will be better!

Sam Winchester was nothing if not prepared. Not that he’d had a choice in the matter: growing up as he had, the hunter quickly learned that being unprepared was a surefire way to get yourself killed. Or yelled at. Or both. By the time he was eleven, Sam had almost perfected the art of being one step ahead, and had begun applying his skills in every possible sphere of his life. It was a good motto to have, and worked well with the rules his father had to keep everyone alive and inconspicuous. Not that it was always easy to be one step ahead… But either way, whenever Sam slipped up, Dean was always there to hand him a gun or fake parent’s note.

When Sam was at Stanford, his knack for preparedness reached new heights. Academia was competitive, and the youngest Winchester was at school to do well. Sam wanted… He wanted to make Dean proud. Make his mom proud. He wanted to show his dad that going to school was something to be proud _of_. Not that that dream had survived, but it had been nice while it lasted. Getting back into hunting only sharpened the need to be one step ahead, and Sam was certain that by the time he was twenty-two, he had perfect the art.

Which was why the Impala was currently in the garage rather than covered by a foot and a half of snow.

Kansas hadn’t seen such a snowfall since March 23rd, 1912. And even then, the twenty and a half inches that fell during that day was nothing compared to what was currently blanketing the ground.

Cas knew something was off the minute he awoke. Toes hitting the floor, his toasty appendages were immediately assaulted by the cold, forcing the mortal to retract his legs and curl up on the bed once again, bleary-eyed as he stared at the ground in tired confusion, blankets slipping off his shoulders in the process. Inhaling sharply, the blue-eyed man grabbed the pieces of material, carefully ensconcing himself in their warmth as his confused look turned to one of quiet frustration. How was he to get socks if the floor was so cold? He could no longer fly to his dresser. Mind you, if he had still been an angel, the cold would not have bothered him.

Not for the first time since Falling, Castiel was reminded of how fragile and sensitive humans were… And consequently, how inconvenient it was to be one of them. And how _annoying_.

With a tired groan, the dark-haired man ran to his dresser in as few strides as possible, pulling open a drawer carelessly with one hand as the other grabbed the first pair of socks he could find. It happened by chance that the ones he sunk his fingers into were the warmest he owned. Castiel slipped the bulky, grey and red things on with the kind of reverence he previously associated with Dean and pie before padding out of the room, heavy blankets dragging on the floor behind him.

Reading a chilly 50 degrees Fahrenheit on one of the many thermometers in the building, the fallen angel made his way to the back door. Cas shoved the metallic slab open, eyes widening almost comically as he did.

The world was covered in white.

Well, not the _entire_ world… But as far as the eye could see, everything had been touched by snow. A good foot and a half, by the looks of it. Unexpectedly, Cas felt a small breath whoosh from his chest, fingers reaching out into the cold morning air as he wriggled the appendages in complete wonderment.

Castiel had seen snow before. He had handcrafted snowflakes himself; been so close that he’d observed each individual entity down to its atoms and so far as to see all of them at once, cataloguing their patterns and shapes. Cas had always thought they’d been beautiful, but as with everything, the fallen angel was learning that he had never truly understood their depth until that moment. For all the inconvenience of his slowly freezing fingers, there were most definitely perks to being human.

That being said, he had no wish to experience frostbite for himself.

Pulling the door shut, Castiel scurried back towards his room, by-passing his own door to knock on Dean’s softly. When there was no answer, the dark-haired man let himself in. “Dean?”

Cas was always surprised when he entered Dean’s room. He had been observing the man nearing four years by now, and the hunter’s chronic messiness in motel rooms would have led Castiel to believe Dean to be just as untidy in his own room… Despite the reality of the exact opposite. Dean Winchester obsessively folded his clothing, dusted his desk, and cleaned his guns. His bed was made every morning, and Cas had even heard Sam incredulously talking about the existence of an organized porn collection.

Shuffling up to his friend, Castiel cleared his throat. The lump of blankets and sheets barely moved. In fact, if Cas hadn’t been sure Dean was sleeping, he would have been worried the man was _alive_. “Dean?”

“Mmmph.” The blob rolled over under the covers.

“Dean, it’s cold. We need to raise the temperature in the building.”

More mumbling.

“Dean, it’s _snowing_.”

“Fuu-sshhh,” the other man groaned. “Too early.”

“But Dean-”

Dean’s hand made its way from beneath the blankets, his middle finger sticking up proudly. Though Cas had yet to learn what that actually meant, he understood it to be a rude gesture. Castiel felt the beginnings of frustration buzzing at the tips of his fingers and huffed before furrowing his brows helplessly. He hated being unable to control his emotions. As an angel, he had been aware of every sound, every breath to pass his lips; he had been in control of every emotion, every smile, every blink.

Now, things just happened.

It drove him crazy, and he was sure the helplessness and frustration of it all would kill him.

“ _Dean._ ”

No answer. Clenching his jaw, the fallen angel place a hand on his hip, mildly jumping at the coldness of his flesh. He was still cold. Looking from his frozen fingers to the hunter’s sleeping form, Castiel couldn’t stop his brows from raising in realization. He had to be like Sam. He had to be like _Dean_. And what would Dean do in this situation?

Flipping back the covers, Castiel pressed his cold palm to the warm flesh of his friend’s nape.

The reaction was instantaneous: Dean yelped, almost hitting Castiel as he sat up, arms flailing, curses tumbling from his mouth. His chest was heaving and Cas couldn’t help but stare at the way his plain grey t-shirt pulled against his skin, nipples straining against the material. Dean’s loose pants bunched up around his knees and his hair was sticking up in all directions. “Fuck, Cas! What the hell?!?”

Castiel’s brow quirked and he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from quirking up in a small smirk. He looked down at his hand and stretched his fingers proudly before settling his gaze on Dean again. “You wouldn’t wake.”

“What, so you decide to fucking ice the back of my goddamn neck?! Jesus!”

There was a bang from the left wall of the room and Dean tried to glare through it, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes with a growl as a muffled _“Shut the hell up, Dean!”_ made its way to his ears. “Bite me, Sam!” the hunter yelled in reply.

Cas was still freezing. “It’s very cold, Dean.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” he grumbled, arms crossing over his chest.

“I did ask you nicely a handful of times before resorting to such measures,” Castiel pointed out. He was unsure if he was doing so because he felt the need to explain himself, or because he somehow knew it would bother Dean.

“Yeah? And what part of ‘too early’ did you not understand?”

“The part where you gestured to me rudely,” Cas retorted, holding his chin up in what he hoped was a final and appropriate gesture. His stance was made less effective by the slight tremors shaking his frame, and Dean refused to feel sorry for him. Refused. They were locked in one of their weird, intense staring matches and Dean Winchester would _not_ feel sorry for the asshole who woke him up so unpleasantly. The dick angel wanted to talk about rudeness? _That_ had been rude.

But then Cas’ teeth began to chatter, and the ex-angel’s baffled expression would have been enough to melt even the hardest of hearts.

Rolling his eyes, Dean put on his slippers and robe with a mutter of ‘frickin’ angels’ before heading out into the hall, grabbing Cas by the blankets to drag him along. Castiel stumbled along and did not bother to correct him.

“Look, you see this dial?” the hunter asked, gesturing to the thermostat. “You turn it up a little. Wait a bit. If the temperature doesn’t go up, we’ll see how many of the fireplaces we can use.”

Cas nodded in understanding, his chapped lips now a very light purple. “Th-Thank you, Dean.” The blue-eyed man tugged the blankets even more tightly around himself and Dean felt his heart squeeze in his chest.

Well, shit.

Biting his lip, the hunter hesitated for half a second before wrapping his arms around his friend in the warmest hug he could muster, rubbing his hands along Cas’ biceps to try and keep him warm. Dean felt the other man’s muscles jump under his fingers, Castiel’s own arms moving to rest around Dean’s waist as he sighed shakily, blankets shielding them both. Hesitantly, Cas pressed his freezing palms to the warmth of Dean’s shirt-covered back, paying attention to the way Dean’s body seemed the sway ever so slightly towards his own.

Icy appendages still seeking warmth, the fallen angel let his hand drop to the waistband of his friend’s pants, fingers sliding upwards towards the naked warmth of Dean’s bare flesh. When they made contact, Dean reacted much the same way he had before, though this time, there was no space in which to properly jump. His body pressed flush against Cas’ in an attempt to move away from the source of the cold, arms wrapping more tightly around his friend. Castiel felt his hands slide down to Dean’s PJ-clad backside in response, squeezing softly, instinctually. Dean blushed a gorgeous red, a strangled whimper escaping from his lips as his eyes widened in alarm. Cas noted Dean’s blown pupils with a sort of hazy interest, though his hands dropped from the hunter and he stepped back, aware that he had crossed a line but not exactly sure when. “Sorry!” he exclaimed, panicked. “S-sorry.”

It was at that moment that Sam chose to emerge from his room, hair sticking out and fluffed up every which way. Castiel briefly wondered if the laws of physics did not apply to Sam Winchester while Dean cleared his throat, ignoring his bleary-eyed brother resolutely.

“So, uh, how the hell’d you get so cold, anyway?”

And then mood shifted, and Dean had pasted on a smile, and Castiel, forever a faithful and fast-learner, did the same.

Though his smile, quite frankly, was scary, and Sam looked at Dean and Cas like they were _both_ insane before brushing past them towards the kitchen. Dean shrugged, tugging on Castiel’s shirt in an almost affectionate manner before following his younger sibling, grin turning into something more organic. “You coming?”

Another five minutes found all three men seated at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee in each of their hands and breakfast before them while Sam looked up the weather. “Well, looks like it’ll keep falling; they’re expecting about two feet. But it shouldn’t get any colder, once the heating kicks in we’ll be fine.” He shot a smirk at Dean. “You’re welcome.”

Dean frowned, raising a dubious brow as he looked to _Cas_ of all people for some context. The fallen angel merely shrugged, burying himself in his drink to hide both the smile from his face and the warmth of his cheeks. Castiel was in the middle of processing what had happened in the hallway, but whatever it was, he was still feeling it. Even if he had known context, chances are the ex-angel wouldn’t have been very helpful… Not when the image and feeling of Dean’s body pressed against his own was playing on a loop in his mind.

Dean, on the other hand, was doing a miraculous job of ignoring anything and everything that had transpired in the past hour. After a lifetime of emotional constipation, the hunter was a pro at ignoring his emotions. And deflecting. Dean was so good at deflecting: “Sammy, ’the hell are you talking about?”

Sam put on his best ‘bitch face’ as Dean has dubbed it, and cleared his throat: “Sammy!” the youngest Winchester mimicked, “Baby’ll be _fine_! No way we get more than an inch of snow.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Now, hold up a sec-”

“ _Sammy!_ ” Sam continued, “we don’t need real winter clothes… We’re never on the East Coast long enough to actually feel winter!” Raising a brow, the younger hunter leaned across the table, proud smirk on his face. “ _Oh thank you, Sam! You always think ahead! Where would I be without you?_ ” Sam shrugged. “You’re welcome, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean groused. “You’re an amazing nerd. Personally, I’m just wondering what _brilliant_ plan you thought up to get into town today.. ‘Cause there’s no way in Hell you’re taking Baby.”

Sam grinned. “The Men of Letters have a snowmobile.”

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“Honest to God, Dean… These guys were prepared for anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a friggin’ spaceship stashed away somewhere.”

“Well, if _I_ was a girl,” Dean smirked. “I know that getting picked up by a Yeti on a snowmobile? That’d be on my bucket list.”

Sam rolled his eyes again but couldn’t keep the smile from his face. So he wasn’t gonna let a little snow get in the way of going on a date tonight, so what? Amelia aside, this would be his first real date since Jess... And though the occasion felt final, even sad, it also felt happy. Like a fresh start. A new beginning. And Sam was more than ready for that. So would he ride in like Diana’s wayward knight on a shining snowmobile? Possibly.

But he’d do it with a smile on his face and some flowers in his hand.

“Well, I’m very happy for you, Sam,” Cas supplied. “I hope you have a wonderful time.”

Sam smiled, if a little awkwardly. “Thanks, Cas… It, um, it means a lot.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Seriously-”

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, Dean, I’d say you were jealous,” Sam said easily, picking at some non-existent lint on his shirt.  

“ _Jealous_?” The hunter felt like he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water. Because he wasn’t jealous: not of the fact that Sam was going on a girly date with a girl, and that they’d never be looked at like they were freaks; not of the fact that Castiel wanted his little brother to have a good time. _Especially_ not because Cas wanted him to have a good time. Hell, it’s not like Dean owned their fallen angel. Castiel wasn’t _his_. He had no reason to be jealous. “Sammy, I don’t _get_ jealous.” Dean bit his lip. “But, um, I am happy for you. I mean, it’s pretty cool that you met another nerd and now you wanna play Dungeons & Dragons and shit together.”

Sam smiled softly. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

The rest of breakfast passed with little consequence, with Dean and Sam talking amiably while Castiel floated in and out of reality, preferring to listen to his friends speak than contribute to the conversation himself. Eventually, Sam left, blushing as Dean teased him about ‘taking half a day to make himself pretty’. By then, it was almost eleven, and the food had long since been consumed. Cas was just about to excuse himself when he felt Dean’s hand accidentally brush his thigh.

Though the entire rest of his body tensed, Castiel’s legs fell open of their own accord, making the dark-haired man blush furiously. He swallowed thickly, looking at Dean with wide, darkened eyes while the man in question retracted his hand as if it burned. “Sorry,” Dean breathed, cheeks red with embarrassment. “That was- uh, I-I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Not a problem,” Cas replied, if a little tightly. He was stuck between feeling as if he needed to say something, and knowing, somehow, that he shouldn’t. In the end, he hadn’t been able to stop himself: “I obviously reacted… oddly, and-”

“Yeah, Cas? Let’s just drop it.”

A frown. “I don’t-”

“Just… don’t talk about it.”

Castiel paused, realization flashing across his face like broken lightening as he nodded slowly in understanding. “Like the pizza man?” he asked seriously, blue eyes boring into Dean’s green ones.

The hunter felt a small smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. “Yeah.” Eager to change to the subject, Dean continued on: “So, you never told me why you were so cold this morning.”

“I opened the back door. I was curious.”

“About what?”

Cas shrugged. “Everything: the temperature, the weather… the snow.”

“Snow?” Dean repeated. “Haven’t you-? I mean, you’ve seen it before, right?”

Castiel tucked his feet underneath his thighs. “Of course. Watching the Earth, you see all sorts of things… Everything, even. But you witness. You never touch.” He shrugged, turning to Dean with a meaningful stare. “Beauty is observed from afar.”

Dean felt his skin tingle from the compliment that was most certainly not a compliment, and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder in an overly platonic gesture. Cue the wide grin. “Let’s go outside.”

“Now?” Cas asked.

Dean tried not be as overtly enthusiastic about the idea as he was quickly becoming. This meant he could continue teaching Cas all the stupid human shit… After all, what was more basic human than a snow day? “Yeah,” the hunter said, trying to stay cool. “I mean, you’ve never had a snow day so.. let’s do that. Not like we got anything better to do, right?”

“Snow day,” Castiel repeated slowly. “What does that entail?”

“Standard version? Usually a snowball fight and some hot chocolate. But us Winchesters? We go all out.”

“I see,” Cas murmured somewhat wearily. “And I assume the ‘Winchester way’ involves some sort of heavy artillery?”

“What? Dude, no! Heavy- No, Cas. You don’t try to kill people on snow days. They’re supposed to be _fun_. I meant more like: snowmen, forts, the whole she-bang, y’know? The works.”

It was very obvious that Castiel had no idea what ‘the works’ truly entailed.

“Just get ready, okay? We’re gonna do this right.”

Another half hour found Castiel looking like a marshmallow. A brightly coloured, fat, fluffy, over-the-top marshmallow. He was wearing a rainbow hat with earflaps and multi-coloured braids that hung down the sides. His puffy tan coat (purchased because of the resemblance to his trench coat) gave him a decidedly round shape, his face covered with a red and green scarf but for his eyes, their colour brought out vibrantly by the bright material. Green corduroys hung loosely from his hips, his hands hidden by striped orange, red, and yellow mittens that boasted a attached string between them, ensuring the owner would not misplace one. Dean could accept the fact that Castiel looked like he’d been puked up by a gay rainbow, even if he couldn’t understand the obsession with garish, clashing, bright colours like his brother could. Because honestly, the dude may have appeared to be the offspring of the rainbow fairy and a fabulous lumberjack, but he was possibly the most adorably hilarious-looking lumberjack-fairy ever… Which made it acceptable.

But Dean drew the line at kid mittens. Or, at least, he had tried to.

At the store, Castiel had logically informed him that the string between the mittens was a brilliant and practical invention, and Dean had tried to explain that a grown-ass man didn’t need attached winter-wear because of the _grown-ass man_ part. “Cas, you’re not gonna lose ‘em. Why d’you need the goddamn string?”

“Because then I will be sure to never misplace them.”

“But you’re an _adult_ , man. You _won’t_ misplace ‘em.”

“That seems presumptuous,” the fallen angel had argued thoughtfully. “Why make mittens with a string if people didn’t misplace them on a regular basis? And how do I know if I’m one of those people who will lose a mitten? They are useless as individual units, Dean.” He had given Dean the intense stare again, the one that clearly said they were having a serious conversation about mittens and singular units versus pairs, but made Dean’s mind extrapolate: you lose one mitten, the other has no purpose; you take Cas away from Dean…

“Give ‘em to Sam,” the hunter had muttered, defeated.

Castiel’s answering smile had warmed Dean to the tips of his toes, and he had walked right into a clothes rack trying to get away from the fallen nerd and all the feelings that came with him. Spontaneously, Cas had given a breathy laugh in response, making Dean pause, red-faced and tangled in clothing; a goofy smile threatening to break across his face. “We never speak of this,” he’d said, trying to seem menacing.

The way Cas had held up his hands, eyes full of barely concealed mirth, told the hunter he hadn’t succeeded.

Currently, those very same eyes were looking at the door impatiently, mittens hanging from the arms of Cas’ jacket as he stood on the balcony like the Michelin Man. His feet were ensconced in not one, but two pairs of heavy woolen socks, which his green corduroys were tucked into. And if that wasn’t the sexiest thing Dean had ever seen, well…

The hunter noticed Castiel’s toes wriggling impatiently as he headed up the stairs, clapping his friend on the back as Cas pitched forward, thrown off balance. Dean only barely caught him, righting the soft mass before ducking his head and squinting, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Sure, you’re covered enough? Your eyes might get frostbite.”

Though he was hidden underneath the hideously multi-coloured hat, Dean could still see Castiel’s momentary look of panic before the fallen angel understood. “Eyes can’t get frostbite, Dean.”

“I know,” the hunter grinned, tugging on his jacket and a scarf. He pulled a hat over his head and slipped on his boots, looking at Cas expectantly. “You ready?”

“Won’t you be cold?” The worry in Cas’ tone was sweet and almost overwhelming, and Dean was glad he had a scarf to hide the flush of his cheeks.

“Nah, I’ll be good. I’m hot-blooded.”

And in what the hunter would swear was a fit of insanity, he winked and walked out the door.

Castiel spent a good three minutes trying to wink at himself in the hallway mirror, and another two putting his boots on. He was almost out the door when he heard his name. “Castiel?”

“Yes?” The reply came out adorably muffled, and Sam raised an amused brow.

“Uh… Where’re you going?”

“Dean is instructing me in the human tradition of the Snow Day.”

“Oh.”

Though Cas was no expert in ‘Speaking Sam’ yet, the fallen angel knew enough to see the man was slightly disappointed. Castiel didn’t know why, but Sam always seemed more distant than Dean did. Often, when Dean decided to teach him something or they went places together, Sam would either elect to stay behind or keep his distance, as if the youngest Winchester felt like he was intruding. Since becoming human, Castiel had become well acquainted with that particular awkward emotion. It wasn’t pleasant. “Would you like to join us? I don’t know at what time you need to be in town, but-”

Sam grinned. He had checked the snowmobile confirm it worked and contacted Diana to make sure they were still on. Now, he had a couple of hours free before he needed to get ready. “Yeah, Cas, that’d be… That’d be great. Thanks.”

Ever since Castiel had claimed that he and Dean “shared a more profound bond”, Sam had felt a little out of place. Especially since Cas had fallen. If the blue-eyed man wasn’t asking Dean about human traditions, Sam’s older brother was dragging Castiel to different places or to try new and exciting things. Sometimes, they’d just hang out and talk. Sometimes, they _wouldn’t need_ to talk… They’d just sit there: Dean reading comics or antique porn mags, or even watching TV while Cas read novels and almanacs and the Classics. Sure, Sam had had the odd conversation with their resident fallen angel, but most either involved questions or a case. They’d bonded over literature and geekery only once, and though Sam had enjoyed talking to Castiel immensely, the opportunity never arose again.

So inviting him out to play? That felt huge. Like, grade school ‘I-got-invited-to-sit-with-the-cool-kids-at-lunch’ huge. Like Sam was joining an _exclusive club_.

Cas’ first real interaction with snow happened just after he’d asked Sam to join them. The dark-haired man had only just stepped outside when Dean pelted him with what appeared to be a ball of snow. The hunter chuckled almost maniacally, throwing another one that hit Cas square in the chest. “C’mon, _Ass-butt_ ,” he taunted from behind a drift. “You gonna stand there lookin’ pretty, or are you gonna-”

Dean received a face-full of snow.

And a lap-full of Castiel.

Not necessarily in that order.

Deciding that small balls of snow were simply not going to cut it, the ex-angel had decided to treat this like any other fight: he’d tackled the hunter to the ground, grabbing armfuls of the stuff and dumping them on Dean’s face as the man in question sputtered, flailing wildly. “Dude! _Not cool_!”

“I would’ve thought it’d be very cold, Dean,” Cas said, serious but for the mirth swimming in his eyes.

“Ha ha, you’re frickin’ hilarious. This ain’t a damn _war_ , Cas.”

“Of course it’s not; there are only two of us. This is a fight.”

“It’s for _fun_. Haven’t you ever done any play fighting before?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied deliberately, dragging the word out.

Apparently, this _was_ play fighting.

“Don’t be such a wuss,” the ex-angel added, slipping off his gloves to help Dean wipe the snow from his face. The hunter only barely registered that Castiel had called him a wuss in the entirely correct context and with the proper intonation… He was too busy staring at the dark-haired man currently straddling his waist. The one who was, apparently, fascinated with the way his very warm fingers could melt wayward snowflakes from Dean’s cheeks. Castiel leaned forward, looking at every perfect, tiny snowflake on the hunter’s skin with absolute wonderment. It was so different, observing things from this perspective. So much more- “Beautiful,” Cas breathed.

Dean felt his heart skip a beat regardless of if the word was meant for him. He was happy for Castiel; looking at snowflakes, touching them, these were all things that were important to do during a First Snow Day. Dean confessed himself disappointed that he hadn’t been there when the fallen angel had first seen this world covered in white this morning. The hunter could imagine the parted lips, the wide eyes, the reaching out curiously only to find that it was _much_ colder than previously anticipated. In the present, Cas’ thumb dragged across his bottom lip, and Dean briefly thought that being here for this portion of the discovery was okay, too.

Once Castiel was satisfied with his melting job, the fallen angel offered his friend a hand, listening intently as Dean set some ground rules:

  1. No tackling
  2. No shots above the shoulders
  3. No being a wuss (courtesy of Castiel)
  4. It’s not a war
  5. Smile, dammit.



That being said and done, Dean taught Cas how to make a proper snowball with just the right consistency, showing the other man how to shape the perfect amount of snow. They split up then, devoting a minute to collect and shape ammo as well as make or find some sort of defensive area before truly beginning. Though Dean had explicitly said snowball fights were not wars, Castiel couldn’t shake the war-like feeling of the entire ordeal…

Which was probably why he was so good at it.

The first thing Cas did was make himself a very crude fortress. Unlike Dean, who was basically out in the open save for his drift, Castiel positioned himself near trees and bushes, digging himself a fast trench. He figured he’d make ammo on the fly.

As it eventually turned out, his aim and strategy was very good.

As it also eventually turned out, Dean’s kamikaze approach was even better.

When Sam stepped out of the Bunker, Cas and Dean communicated a silent, temporary truce in an attempt to cover the gigantic man in snow. This was a lofty and unreasonable goal but served its purpose nonetheless, and Castiel quickly learned that a snowball fight between three people was much more fun than between two. Dean, who had originally been disappointed by the intrusion (he was supposed to teach Cas everything, after all), soon found himself unable to disagree.

Alliances were made and broken, strategies were stolen, and Sam received a handful of snow down his back while Cas took a hit to the face, the snowball exploding in white flakes that got caught in his eyebrows and lashes. Dean refused to acknowledge how pretty the delicate white flakes made his best friend look, and in doing so paused and made himself vulnerable. Sam put snow down his brother’s pants.

Castiel was quite sure that seeing Dean hop around while squealing profanities was the funniest thing he’d ever witnessed in his countless years of observing planet Earth.

Dean, though cold and pissed, was happy to have made Cas laugh hysterically. He was also downright joyful to _light him up_ with snowballs for doing so.   

In short: very quickly, the ground rules no longer applied. Which meant that Dean tackled his younger brother and gleefully rubbed snow in his precious hair, Cas perfected his head shot, and Sam broke rules they hadn’t even thought of: in addition to essentially freezing his brother’s manly bits, the youngest Winchester set traps for his opponents, stole snowballs and forts, and crushed those artifacts made of snow he felt threatened his position.

By the time Sam had to go inside, their snowball fight had dissolved into three grown men pelting barely formed spheres of white at each other. “Okay guys,” the giant of a man said, grinning and out of breath. “I gotta go get ready.”

“Sammy, if she can’t appreciate you like this, she doesn’t deserve you, man.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed his older brother affectionately, smiling as the hunter fell on his ass beside his previously angelic counterpart. “Take care of him, Cas,” Sam smirked.

An indignant “ _hey!_ ” from Dean as Castiel smiled widely. “Good luck, Sam.”

“Yeah!” Dean piped in. “Make us proud, Sammy! Do the tongue thing I taught you!”

“ _Goodbye, Dean._ ”Blushing a ridiculous red colour, Sam scurried inside while the eldest Winchester turned to his resident ex-angel with a content, knowing smile. “Girls love the tongue thing, Cas.”

A frown. “What is the tongue thing, exactly?”

Dean sighed, throwing himself back on the snow. Castiel mimicked the action. “It’s just a… tongue thing. I dunno, man, it’s a trick to use during sex. And man, do they love it.”

“If I ever become intimately acquainted with a woman, you’ll have to teach it to me.”

“Yeah… For sure,” Dean replied, hating the sinking, jealous feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want anybody having sex with Cas, let alone a stranger. Dean could teach him the tongue thing _first hand_ -

“What now?” Castiel asked, excitement evident in his voice. It made the hunter grin like an idiot.

“Now… We build a snowman.”

This part of the Snow Day was a different kind of fun. Certainly not as exciting as snowball fighting, but Cas decided he liked it all the same. There was something very relaxing about rolling around a ball of snow, watching it grow and grow and trying to shape it into a perfect sphere. Castiel was in charge of the body while Dean went inside for some ‘snowman supplies’. He emerged as Cas was in the middle of rolling the second ball; a hat, scarf, carrot and two blue buttons in his hands.

Dean ended up being just as terrible at snowball rolling as the fallen angel. Their snowman’s body was lopsided, and Dean had to run inside for more buttons because they couldn’t find a stick to bend for the mouth. His arms were each a different length as well, but Cas seemed ecstatic with the final product. In fact, the dark-haired man was almost cooing over it by the time he placed the hat atop its head.

At this point, it was dark but for the streetlamp outside their door. Cas looked on proudly while Dean stepped back from their creation, pursing his lips before moving around behind it, pressing a mound of snow into its back.

“What are you doing?” Castiel’s voice was only slightly panicked, and Dean rolled his eyes to mask his nervousness. He didn’t want to ruin Cas’ first snowman, but-

“Will you gimme a minute?” the hunter grunted, packing more snow on the area and shaping it. His brows knitted in concentration as he reached down for more, doing the same until two misshapen things began to protrude from the snowman’s back. Castiel froze in place, heart hammering in his chest as he looked from the Dean’s hands to his face about a dozen times.

“Wings,” he breathed, awed. “You made wings.”

“Yeah,” Dean said bashfully, gloved hand moving to scratch the back of his hat-covered head. Looking at them, the hunter was forced to admit that they were probably the most God awfully ugly things in the world, but yes. Wings. “I mean, they’re supposed to be. If you wanna take ‘em off-”

“They’re _perfect_ ,” Cas assured him, pulling off his mittens to touch the snow reverently. “Thank you, Dean.”

The hunter let slip a relieved breath, giving his friend a small shrug. “Don’t mention it.”

They spent another good three minutes staring at the stunted, misshapen wings before Dean felt that his toes could not longer take the abuse. It was one thing to be moving around, it was a complete other to be standing, stationary, staring at a mutant snowman angel.

Speaking of snow and angels… “Hey, Cas, c’mere.”

The blue-eyed man trudged over, watching curiously as Dean threw himself back on an otherwise untouched patch of snow. He waved his arms and legs across the white surface for a moment before looking at Castiel expectantly. “You gonna make me do this alone?”

Shaking his head, the fallen angel lowered himself down a good distance from Dean, mimicking his actions until instructed to stop. When Dean pulled him up, Castiel felt his heart constrict in his chest. “They’re snow angels,” Dean offered nervously. “I mean, nothing compared to the real thing or anything, but kids like to make ‘em.”

Cas nodded, dumbstruck as he looked at the shapes in the snow. “Thank you, Dean,” he said quietly. Turning to the other man, he offered a small, genuine smile. “Thank you for everything.”

“”Course,” Dean replied, warmly. His voice took on a teasing tone. “Besides, couldn’t miss out on Angel’s First Snow.”

“Please, no photography this time around.”

“I don’t think my fingers could press any small buttons even if they wanted to.”

Deciding it was time to head in, the pair made their way towards the door, both freezing and wet and elated. Cas led the way, walking with more confidence than he’d felt in a while. Unfortunately, this meant that he slipped with twice as much momentum when he hit an icy patch on his way inside.

Luckily, Dean was there to catch him.

The hunter almost slipped himself but quickly regained his balance, helping Cas stand while the fallen angel turned in his arms, apologizing profusely.

And then Cas stopped.

Perhaps it was the all-encompassing giddiness and wonder from playing in the snow, but Castiel couldn’t stop himself from leaning into Dean, hands resting on his biceps while the other man gripped his waist. Even still, Cas slipped a second time, and Dean pulled the fallen angel flush against his own body to insure it wouldn’t happen again. Unable to help himself, Dean tilted his head, deliberately brushing his nose against Cas’ as his eyes slipped shut for the briefest of moments. Castiel gave him a private smile before doing the same.

They stood on that ice patch for what felt like forever, simply brushing noses and exchanging small smiles and looks. Briefly, Dean was made aware that this was probably the weirdest thing he’d ever done with another person to show affection.

But it was kinda… nice.

Dean had never really been one for excessive teasing and cuddling, but he liked the simplicity of just touching Cas. That, coupled with the anticipation and butterflies of wanting more but not allowing himself any was sure to drive him crazy in the best way possible.

Castiel was experiencing a sort of… Well, he had absolutely no idea what to call it, but it was warm and tingly and wonderful. Every time Dean’s nose touched his own, the fallen angel felt a pleasurable jolt in his stomach, made more intense when their mouths came within a hair’s distance of each other’s but didn’t brush. Dean smelled good, and he was warm, and Castiel wanted to stay there, in that position with him, forever.

But nothing lasts forever.

“We should get inside,” Dean said quietly, leaning his forehead against the blue-eyed man’s. “It’s getting too cold out here.”

Cas agreed.

They only moved when Dean began to shiver, during which time the hunter hesitantly pulled away from his friend. He helped Cas cross the ice, amazed by how comfortable and easy it all was.

As soon as they entered the warmth of the Bunker, however (the heating had obviously kicked in), awkwardness filled the air like a poison. The men each took off their outdoor gear in complete silence, Dean resolutely looking away from Castiel while Cas tried to make eye contact. The fallen angel was confused, and felt a sinking, ominous feeling settle in his chest as he frowned deeply, palm moving up to settles on top of his sweater-covered heart. Though he knew there was nothing physically wrong, he felt… disappointed? No, more than that. He felt _hurt._

“You can shower first,” Dean offered loudly, wanting to break the silence.

Cas jumped from the noise and the hunter muttered an apology. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You hungry? I can start on dinner.”

Castiel called that he was out roughly fifteen minutes later.

Dean turned down the temperature of the skillet, put the hot chocolate on the back burner, and covered whatever pancakes he’d already made with a fresh towel in the hopes of keeping them warm. The table had long since been set, and the hunter was more than ready for a shower. Making his way downstairs, Dean eagerly began to undress, undoing his belt and pulling his shirt over his head just in time to come face to face with Cas outside the bathroom door.

Cas, who was wearing nothing but a towel; tiny rivulets of water dripping tantalizingly down his chest. Cas, whose hair was wet and wild and whose eyes were wide, their colour almost ethereal.

Cas, who- was that a tattoo?

Dean’s eyes widened as he played with the shirt in his hands, unable to stop himself from staring. “You’ve got a, um…”

“It’s angel warding,” Castiel explained, just as curious and interested in Dean’s torso. “And yours-”

“Anti-possession.”

Cas nodded almost fondly. “I remember. It was the last thing I wove into your flesh.” Absently, Castiel’s fingers moved to brush the mark. The hunter felt himself inhale sharply and blinked sluggishly, trying to slow his thundering heart and stop the tremors from coursing through his flesh. Dean didn’t know or understand why, but there was something undeniably knee-weakening about the way Castiel spoke and what he was talking about. It tugged on a raw and sensitive part of himself that made his memory flash golden warmth.

“Y-Yeah?” Though it had meant to come out confident, Dean’s voice was weak.

“Yes. I remember thinking how clever you were to have marked yourself in such a way. Most angels view any marring of the flesh that is not for spiritual purposes as a soiling of sorts… An insult to God. But I could not keep myself from thinking how terribly clever you were. Are. Present tense.” Cas looked up from the mark appraisingly. “You’re still plenty clever, Dean.”

Castiel was oblivious to the effect he was having on the hunter. Where he once would have been aware and in tune to every skip of Dean’s heart, the fallen angel now was lost in his own head; memories coursed through his veins like wildfire, and if his breathing picked up, it was not due to the fact that Dean’s fingers had migrated to his own tattoo. It was remembering. Remembering the sulfurous, dark stink of Hell; the death and despair of the Pit as he swept in to save the Righteous Man, tugging on Dean’s soul urgently as it coiled more tightly, darkening, darkening… Castiel had been afraid that his charge had been lost.

But then Cas had softened, harsh pulls dissolving into soft touches, and Dean Winchester had unraveled in his hands. Castiel had nursed him back to health in secret, taking his time to remake this strong and perfect human exactly as God had intended. Though the angel had seen every human in existence, he doubted there was one as beautiful and good as the soul in his current possession. Castiel still thought that.

“Cas?” Dean breathed shakily.

The fallen angel shook himself from his memories. “Yes?”

“I, um… Personal space?” It came out soft, like Dean didn’t actually want personal space, but Castiel moved away anyway, a nod and half-smile on his lips that looked more forced than anything else. Dean hated it. He hated that Cas was human, and that his control was dwindling with every moment they spent alone together. He hated that Castiel probably did not understand that Dean was attracted to him at all; that his inexperience with being human meant that he most likely assumed this was how all friends treated each other. He hated that he wanted to be selfish, and at that same time, couldn’t bear to tarnish a fallen angel.

But most of all, he hated that what he wanted was something he not only couldn’t have, but had spent his whole life trying not to want.

“I just-um: shower.” Dean pointed in thumb in direction of the bathroom and Cas nodded in understanding, expression more genuine this time.

“Yes, of course. I… apologize for-”

“No, no,” Dean assured, awkwardly lifting his hand to place it on Cas’ bare shoulder. “Don’t, uh, don’t worry about it, man. Just, ah, y’know. I gotta-”

“Yes. I’ll just-”

“Yeah. Um, I started dinner. There should be food on the table if you’re hungry.”

After some awkward ‘thank yous’ and shuffling away, Dean found himself alone in the bathroom, door closed. He almost sighed in relief.

Shimmying off his pants and boxer-briefs, the hunter ran his fingers over the handprint on his shoulder. With a sigh, he took a moment to look at himself. The hate was still there; though he had no major problems with his physical appearance, Dean was not necessarily a fan of the person looking back at him. Dean Winchester was a womanizer, a jerk, and an obnoxious asshole. He’d made terrible choices and done terrible things. Castiel didn’t deserve somebody like that. Hell, nobody deserved somebody like that.

And yet, Cas had the weirdest way of making him feel like none of that mattered; of seeing _through_ all the bull crap and getting at who Dean really was. It was uncanny, and made him uncomfortable, but the hunter was also grateful for it. It was nice to just be Dean and Cas when they hung out together.

The shower was cold and much needed… And if Dean took an extra five minutes to ‘take care of himself’ while thinking of a fallen angel, so be it.

For some reason, dinner wasn’t awkward. It had started that way, sure. From the moment Dean had said: “Breakfast for dinner: it’s a staple. I used to do this special for Sammy for birthdays and stuff.” The air had been thick with awkward tension. Which, okay, had also been present while Dean was cooking, but it was much easier to ignore that kind of thing while slaving over a hot skillet. It was harder when it was literally staring you in the face.

However, at some point, all the awkwardness dissipated. Dean wasn’t sure exactly when the moment was, but he figured it had been around the time he’d shown Cas how to pour maple syrup so it was distributed evenly across a pancake. “And this is the real stuff, all the way from Canada,” he’d told his friend. “None of that fake corn syrup crap.”

From that point on, Cas had relaxed, and everything just went… smoothly.

It turned out that in addition to syrup on his pancakes, Castiel like raspberry jam. Dean had tried to get the fallen angel to try one with peanut butter or nutella, but Cas had stubbornly refused, stating that he didn’t ‘feel like eating those things’ at the moment.

Castiel didn’t like bacon, but he enjoyed breakfast sausages.

And he _loved_ hot chocolate.

Again, Dean had gone all out; melting real baker’s dark chocolate rather than simply making one of those instant, overly sweet packages. His efforts were well appreciated by way of the flush on Cas’ cheeks and the smile in his eyes. He drank three cups of hot chocolate insgel-handedly, and the pair polished off the stack of pancakes no problem.

“I can see why Sam enjoys this meal,” Cas said happily, letting his used napkin drop onto his plate.

“Good, right?” Dean asked, leaning back on his chair, completely satisfied.

“Yes. This has been my favourite repast so far, I think. Thank you, Dean.”

The hunter felt himself flush. “No problem, man. Uh, what’re you doing?”

Cas paused, his plate and Dean’s in hand. “I believe it’s customary for the other person to do the dishes?”

“Oh.” A smile. “Sure, thanks. Uh, you wash, I’ll dry?”

Dean’s job may as well have just been ‘sleeve roller’. For some reason, Cas had insisted on wearing his sweater, and no matter how many times the hunter rolled the damn sleeves, they always made their way back towards the water. Eventually, Dean got fed up. “Take off your sweater.”

“Excuse me?”

“Cas, I can’t dry this stuff if I need to roll your friggin’ sleeves every five minutes. Take it off.”

“I’ll be cold.”

“You’re wearing a t-shirt underneath, you’ll be fine.” Dean tugged on Cas’ PJ pants, snapping the elastic waistband with a grin. “You’ll be _fine_ ,” he repeated.

Cas lifted his arms.

Rolling his eyes, the hunter grasped the underside of the sweater, tugging up and apparently, taking Castiel’s shirt with him. Dean tried not to get distracted by the pale expanse of chest and grunted, eventually getting the thing off and tossing it onto one of the kitchen chairs. The hunter then leaned forward instinctually, fully intending to press a chaste kiss to Castiel’s mouth before his brain caught up with him and re-routed the action, instead forcing the hunter to nudge his nose against the ex-angel’s affectionately. He then pulled away like nothing had happened and Cas, smiling privately, continued working in much the same way.

When they were done, Dean nudged him. “Wanna watch a movie?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Cas replied. The truth of the matter was that the blue-eyed man was beat. After waking up early, all the excitement of the day, and that fact that, more than a few months in, he still had yet to experience one night of good sleep, Castiel was exhausted. But he didn’t want to stop spending time with Dean just yet, and he especially did not want whatever it was they were doing to end, so he kept quiet about it. After all, Dean had been especially distant immediately following the shaving incident, and he had not been nearly as affectionate then.

“You tired?” the hunter asked.

Cas yawned. “No.”

“You sure?”

_When humans want something really, really bad… we lie._

“Yes.”

They watched _Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer_. It had been between that and _Elf_ , and Dean figured that the shorter, more kid-friendly movie would please his angel more than Will Ferrell hamming it up on screen and making pop culture references.

Turns out, he’d been right.

Cas adored the movie. He liked the animation, he liked Rudolph, the Abominable Snowman, and he especially loved the misfit toys. Oh! And Hermey the elf. Apparently, Castiel could appreciate the practical need for a practicing dentist in the North Pole.

Dean, though he’d watched the movie as well, spent most of his time trying not to freak out when Cas cuddled him. They’d started out on opposite ends of Sam’s bed (because, go figure, they had five bathrooms but the only TV was in his little brother’s room), and by the time the credits rolled, Castiel was thoroughly cuddled into Dean side: entangled legs, head resting on his chest, the whole she-bang. The hunter was beyond comfortable, and had half a mind to fall asleep then and there when Cas moved. After all, the fallen angel did not want Sam to be out of a bed if whenever he decided to come home.

“Dean, we need to brush our teeth.”

And that was how Castiel tugged a tired Dean from bed and forced him to brush his teeth. Which, honestly, the hunter found kind of endearing; Cas usually always forgot to brush or wash or shave, and it must have been the elf in the movie that reminded him. Dean only hoped that this didn’t turn into an obsession with oral hygiene.

When all was said and done, Cas paused in the bathroom doorway while Dean stepped into the hall. The blue-eyed man looked at the hunter warmly. “Do you think Sam is having fun?”

Dean smiled a little, leaning forward so their faces only a hair too close to be considered socially acceptable. “Yeah,” he said softly, fondly. “I think so.”

Castiel’s lips upturned and he gave a slight nod. “Good.” He and Dean had had such a wonderful evening, it seemed paramount for Sam to be experiencing the same sort of happiness.

Sighing, the fallen angel rocked back on his heels once, fidgeting in his place nervously for a moment before forcing himself to open his mouth, confused by how hard it was to get the simple words out. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, and for one ridiculous second, Castiel feared Dean could hear it. The hunter was leaning against the doorframe, looking like the most contented man on Earth as he waited patiently for Cas to speak, expression soft and sweet. Cas took a breath. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Dean… Thank you.” Pitching himself forward, the angel quickly pressed his mouth to the corner of Dean’s. Pulling back, the fallen angel immediately ducked his head, turning and scurrying back to his room all flushed and smiley, incredibly proud of his undoubtedly correct and appropriate display of affection.

Meanwhile, Dean stood in the hallway, shell-shocked.

Cas shut his door softly, leaning back against the slab of wood. His chest heaved for some unknown reason he couldn’t begin to fathom, and couldn’t bring himself to care about. He wanted to dance. He wanted to jump. He was just _so excited_ and there was _so much giddy energy_ …

Throwing himself on his bed, Cas smiled into his pillow, unaware that in the next room, Dean was doing the same.

END.


End file.
